


bang the doldrums

by Verbyna



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Intimacy, Jack "Growing As A Person" Zimmermann, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbyna/pseuds/Verbyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent Parson is not Jack's friend. He’s a fucking fever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bang the doldrums

**Author's Note:**

> me: but what if... jack/parse thirst au  
> twitcrew: DO IT  
> me: but what if... i take it really seriously as a jack character study  
> jenny: BURN IT ALL DOWN
> 
> Thanks to Jenny (teaboytoaliens) for the beta; title from FOB; fault all mine, unfortunately.

i.

 

“Jack, honey, I don’t want to be _that_ boy, you know? But I have to know. I _have_ to. What were you and Kent?”

Jack looks at Bitty’s restless hands, his hunched shoulders, and says, “Friends.” Then he says, “Come here,” and Bitty does. If he can’t see Jack’s face, he won’t be able to tell he was lying. He trusts Jack enough not to ask a second time.

 

ii.

 

Jack has friends. He’s young and successful and his meds are working. He’s Bob Zimmermann’s son, and that alone would take care of his social life no matter what he was doing with his life.

Kent Parson is not a friend. He’s a fucking fever.

Jack can’t remember half their conversations; he was too busy holding himself back, like his body has a mind of its own. Their lips are always chapped from how much they lick them, watching each other on the ice, across the aisle on the bus.

He drops to his knees in front of Kent two weeks after they meet. It’s so quiet in Kent’s room; his billet family went out, they’ll be gone till morning, and Jack is on his knees, about to suck a dick for the first time. His mouth is literally watering.

He had no idea he was into guys. Actually, he had no idea he was even capable of wanting anything this much - an itch he can’t scratch that gets even worse when he gives in.

Now that he’s on this floor, he knows he’ll always be on it, somewhere in the back of his mind. Now that he gave in, spread Kent’s knees and got between them, saw his face as he screamed above Jack, he can’t go back to not knowing.

 

*

 

It feels like he’s on fire. It never stops.

Kent fucks him on a Tuesday. They have a game on Wednesday. Kent sucks him off at 2am in the back of the bus, their entire team sleeping right next to them. They wake up on Thursday and grab their bags and head to their respective houses, then meet up at noon and jerk each other off at the rink before practice.

Jack takes more pills, but they just numb him to everything except the sound of skates on ice and his constant awareness of Kent. He laughs at himself hysterically: where’s the lowered libido they warned about? Where the hell is it when Jack bites down on Kent’s shoulder and doesn’t even know what turns him on more, his teeth against tendon or the salty-sweet smell of Kent’s slippery skin?

Where is it when his hands start to sweat at the thought of a bruise under Kent’s pads?

 

*

 

It’s a blessing that his brain short-circuits as soon as their clothes start dropping. It’s also terrifying. He loses track of time; he knows that if he asked Kent, if this was something they talked about, Kent wouldn’t be better off.

He’s got two fingers inside Kent, warm-wet-tight, and he’s fumbling with the condom. Kent’s been babbling since Jack flipped him over onto his stomach and spread his thighs to make room for himself. Kent lifts himself onto his elbows, head dangling between his shoulders, and tries to looks back at him. His eyes aren’t open all the way, and he’s slurring his words, but Jack still hears him:

“More. _Now_."

Jack’s body reacts before he has time to make sense of it. He pulls his fingers out and leans forward, pushing Kent back down with an arm against the back of his neck as he pushes his dick in. It shouldn’t fit, but it does. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Kent whimpers into the pillow, his entire back shaking. For a second, Jack thinks he’s crying, but then he hears the laughter between the gasps. “Don’t. Stop.” 

Jack’s in pain too. It hadn’t occurred to him to stop. 

He can’t stop touching Kent with his free hand, fisting his damp hair and scratching down his heaving back to where he’s stretched around Jack. His body is all Jack can think about, this body that makes his own feel foreign and brutal in a way playing can’t. He wants to tear Kent apart. He wants to curl up around him, hold him right there in the circuit they’re making, mindless and connected and swallowing up the whole world. 

That’s how he thinks of it later, of course. He has no words for it while it’s happening. He comes on a sob, spilling into Kent, crushed that it’s over. 

* 

They play beautiful hockey together. 

It’s so easy that it’s almost unfair to the other team. Jack knows where Kent’s body is. Kent knows how Jack moves. 

It’s almost like love, Jack thinks, except love makes you careful. Love makes you protective. Love is about wanting to know the other person; it’s not this huge. It shouldn’t make you into an animal. 

They’re not careful with each other: Kent tore three of Jack’s stitches, and they just kept going. There was blood all over the sheets. Jack panicked when he came back to his senses, and he doesn’t remember what he told Kent, but Jack would’ve fucking punched him in the face if he had shown any pity. 

They play beautiful, NHL-level hockey. They’re the top two prospects. They don’t talk about that unless there are cameras in their faces. 

* 

The fever doesn’t break until Jack’s in the hospital. He looks at Kent Parson’s face in the paper. It’s like looking at a stranger. 

iii. 

Bitty drapes himself across Jack’s back. They’re having Sunday brunch at Jack’s place, and Jack’s tense from Bitty’s question last night. 

He doesn’t realize why Bitty freezes at first, but he took Bitty’s hand and kissed it. He didn’t even think about it. There’s a little flour on his wrist, right in front of Jack’s face, so he licks at it and looks over his shoulder at Bitty’s flushed face. 

“I never thought you were a romantic,” Bitty says, shaky. 

Jack shrugs, smiles. “You bring it out in me. Now come on, eat something. You’re not here to take care of me.” 

That’s the second lie he’s told Bitty in the past twenty-four hours. He lets Bitty see his face this time, and whatever he sees there, his answering smile is blinding. 


End file.
